


bad moon descending

by IneffableDoll



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bloodborne Fusion, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light Angst, M/M, Monsters, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Softness, just some thoughts following the ending that add nothing to the story lol, mostly just cuz of the setting, so blame birb not me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:15:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25790446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableDoll/pseuds/IneffableDoll
Summary: They were going, and it didn’t particularly matter where. Wherever it was, it wasn’t Yharnam, and that was all that counted.(A brief fan fic for birbteef’s fan fic “bad moon rising.”)(Rating is simply because Bloodborne is involved and a G didn’t really seem right because of that.)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 19





	bad moon descending

**Author's Note:**

> Ha. Title is clever. (It’s not.)  
> This is a fan fic for birbteef’s fan fic [bad moon rising](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22686904) which I love so much. You’ll need to read it first for any of this to make sense, and I highly recommend you do.  
> This has literally no plot.  
> (Aaaaaaaand as I set to post this, I’ve just seen that birbteef posted an epilogue to their fic a handful of days past! I wrote this over a month ago, so just ignore whatever contradictions there are. This is more of a follow-up than an epilogue, so I figure it’s still worth posting?)

They were going, and it didn’t particularly matter where. Wherever it was, it wasn’t Yharnam, and that was all that counted. Away from the carnage, the bloodied soils, and where any sense of good had broken like bones. Only to then be reformed, as from a dream, and grasped unsteadily by the hand.

The claw-like, scaled hand.

Behind them now was a jagged, silhouetted skyline, one of clambering towers and cathedrals and gothic spires, black against the slowly lightening heavens. The Red Moon’s bloody cast slowly evaporated into a dimly mauve and fiery haze. A morning neither of them thought they’d see, especially not together. And yet.

Crowley glanced back now and again to confirm the growing distance between them and the city of hunters and beasts, like an itching scab, sin immeasurable and carved against him in a way that made Crowley feel as though he hadn’t truly left. Not yet, not when he could still see it; their escape still felt so tentative, even hours after the fact. All he wanted to do was leave it behind.

Aziraphale was quiet beside him now, and he had not looked back even once the entire time. They’d been talking the whole while, trying to gather their vague memories of something within the hunter’s dream, cast in an indistinct, nebulous haze. Rather…well, dreamlike. Each time Crowley reached out for those memories, they seemed ever more unattainable, unreachable, nonexistent.

The only thing he was sure of – mostly – was a moment of Aziraphale running gentle fingers through his hair and over his face, his very _human_ face…but he couldn’t quite decide if that was somehow real, or just the fantasy of a desperate mind.

One of those gentle hands now held his, even now, after hours of walking.

There was a strange sensation of knowing Aziraphale like his oldest friend, and yet of also being his newest, and, really, his only. It didn’t make much sense, but he couldn’t find it in him to properly question it. The details were lost, but Crowley simply knew that he wasn’t leaving Aziraphale alone no matter what – and somehow knew that neither would he.

Crowley was still getting used to his body. He’d known he was becoming a beast for a long time now and the scales on his arms, legs, and torso were not terribly new, though they had significantly increased in terms of quantity and coverage. He could feel their smooth solidity against his face, more a part of it than sitting atop like before, melding with a solid but not uncomfortable permanence. He was more scales than flesh – or at least, they were somewhat balanced. But he was definitely taller than usual by at least a couple of heads, if not more, and his hands could only be considered somewhat humanlike if you turned your head, squinted, then lied through your teeth.

Speaking of, sharp teeth. He prodded at them with a long, forked tongue curiously and wondered if eating would be easier or harder for it.

Aziraphale looked over at him as they passed one of the few outstanding structures beyond Yharnam, most long since crumbled to rubble and ash. His eyes were still a little bit off, but much in the same entrancing way they had been before when he was regular undead rather than double undead, or whatever he was now. It didn’t matter much. He was here; Crowley didn’t care about anything else.

Aziraphale asked a familiar question, softly, against the approaching dawn. “Does it still hurt?” He nodded to Crowley’s, well, everything. “The tail, or anything else? I do hope it isn’t bothering you…”

“Nah,” Crowley replied with a shrug. He couldn’t help the shy pleasure he felt at someone genuinely worrying about him, but, just as back in that house, he tried not to let it show – due to habit more than anything. “It feels strange. Extra limb and everything, so it’s to be expected, I guess. But it also feels more like this body was supposed to have it there, if that makes any sense.”

“Not much,” Aziraphale replied truthfully, “but I think I can see what you mean.”

“What about you, Angel?”

“What about me?”

“Are you doing okay?” he clarified, looking him up and down. “Your body looks just as nice as the old one, but you are still glowing a little.” Crowley grinned at the wispy, bashful smile that threatened Aziraphale’s lips at that comment. “How do you feel?”

Aziraphale turned his face away just a smidge from Crowley’s gaze, seemingly to ponder this question. “I feel…I don’t know what I feel,” Aziraphale admitted, using the hand not holding Crowley’s to smooth down his front tentatively. Less to adjust anything and more like proving to himself that he was there. “It’s like I’m in this body, but sometimes I feel slightly left of it, and I have to focus to keep it here…or something. It’s hard to put to words, but at least nothing hurts, so I’m not too concerned.”

“The last time you said that, your soul was hanging over your head.”

“Yes, well, it’s not there anymore, so we can’t have much to complain about.”

Crowley glanced down to their clasped hands in what he thought was a subtle maneuver and probably wasn’t. “No, not really,” he agreed. “So, any clue where we’re going from here?”

“No more than you, I imagine,” Aziraphale said as they picked back up their stride, Crowley making sure to take shorter steps so Aziraphale could keep up comfortably. “I’m not even sure what’s in this direction.”

Crowley alternated between keeping his tail off the ground and letting it drag, uncertain how to carry himself with it. “I think there’s a village north of us,” he noted, “or used to be, but we definitely don’t want to go there. Best to keep east and hope we don’t find more things that want to kill us.”

“That would be preferable, yes,” Aziraphale agreed breezily. “The farther, the better. Somewhere neither Gabriel nor your old cult will find us, or if they do, they’ll have to work very hard for it.”

“Or, really, just somewhere no one at _all_ can find us,” Crowley couldn’t help but add with a grimace. “I don’t exactly see my new body going over well with the locals, after all.” Crowley flashed his sharp-toothed grin pointedly.

“Likewise. I’ve faced enough stigma for being like _this_ as it is.” Aziraphale pressed his lips together and looked to Crowley, something soft in his expression melting the worried crease of his eyebrows. “You’re the only one who doesn’t seem to mind that, Crowley.”

Crowley felt the same warmth suffuse him as when he’d first awoken, his beasthood receding. When the only things worth knowing were the heat of Aziraphale’s being surrounding him, the lightest touch, the clarity of being reformed under a watchful gaze. The feeling of…of safety, he figured. Of being cared for, or about. It was extremely unfamiliar, and he didn’t know what to do with it.

“I don’t think I’m in any position to judge, Angel,” Crowley reminded him, aiming for teasing and falling short at a bit self-deprecating. “I’m still very much a monster, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Aziraphale smiled in a way that made him look more alive than those who actually were, placing a hand over his non-beating heart. “Why, no, I hadn’t noticed at all! What could you possibly be referring to?”

Crowley could do nothing else but smile back, even if he’d had the wherewithal to resist. “Ah, I assume you must hold hands with clawed beasts often enough that you just don’t notice anymore, Angel,” he joked.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Ah, yes, all those opportunities I’ve had to hold someone’s hand. Oh, wait.” He chuckled lightly, despite the evident sorrow of this statement, and tightened his grasp on Crowley’s claws almost nervously – as though Crowley could even conceive of the idea of pulling away. He’d never held someone’s hand to memory, either – at least, not like this, and not for so long, and if Aziraphale didn’t let go they might just be stuck like this forever. Crowley had no complaints.

He recalled something Aziraphale had said earlier that night. That Crowley was the only person to treat Aziraphale with kindness. It was something he couldn’t comprehend, the very idea of Aziraphale never being handled the way he should be, of ever meeting Aziraphale and not wanting to metaphorically (and maybe literally) wrap himself around the angel and never let go. With whatever scrap of goodness Crowley harbored – something he hadn’t truly believed he had until recently – he silently promised to himself to show Aziraphale all the ways he should have been treated long ago.

“Besides,” Aziraphale interrupted his thoughts suddenly, with a vaguely wistful expression as he gazed forward, “you’re not a monster, Crowley. You’re anything but.”

Crowley almost teased him, but instead found himself at a loss for words at just how genuinely Aziraphale had spoken. Like he truly believed what he said, with every atom of his being. Aziraphale, someone who, from the start, had seen not the beast in him, but the man buried beneath scales, serpentine eyes, and a haunted past.

As before, Crowley had no idea what to do with that, other than grab hold with every bit of strength in his body and protect what had quickly become his only and most true comfort.

The purples and reds of the night had faded entirely by then, giving way to the oranges and yellows of the dawning sun. Opposite the skyline they faced, the moon’s gory beams of light faded as it disappeared behind an invisible skyline. The colors swirling above lightened to pastels, and the dingy rot of what lay in their wake could nearly be forgotten.

As daylight temporarily banished the ambling shadows, Crowley took one last glance at Yharnam. It would still be some time before it was entirely beyond his line of sight. Mindfully, he forced himself to take a breath and look away. He would not check again, he decided. He needed to keep his eyes trained on where they were going, in every sense.

This in mind, the two who had found solace in naught but one another walked toward whatever lay ahead.


End file.
